A (mostly) humorous look at life. No, really. I'm serious.

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To seamlessly segue from last week to this, Loretta and I ultimately accomplished our goal of giving cat beds to Slinky, who lives under a bridge at a local college and also to Bridget, who lives under another bridge on campus. Granted, that doesn’t sound exciting. But when you realize these two have spent 13 years living in dirt under their respective bridges, offering them their first beds was a big deal. (To us at least!)

The bridge

Now don’t get me wrong; even though college administrators wish the cats, and we who feed them, would disappear, what they fail to recognize is the gumption of our feral rescue volunteers. These are no wussies. We hold our own when faced with unreasonable requests, like allowing elderly ferals to starve.

When Loretta and I decided it was way overdue that we provide our two ferals a bed, did we fear arrest? Nah. Call us crazy…those cats were getting a bed come hell or high water. And let me tell you, the water was high. (The creek under the bridges was rushing like a river after a recent storm.) So anyway, we waited for the cloak of darkness before pulling off the cat bed caper. Continue reading →

I have many adventures in feral cat rescue and meeting interesting people is part of the adventure. Now don’t get me wrong; interesting isn’t always so great. Take, for instance, two bozos I’ve had the displeasure of dealing with who work at a local college.

Slinky, an elderly feral our nonprofit has been feeding for 10 years, lives under a bridge at the college. But the head honchos (the bozos) have always prohibited us from offering him shelter. Why, you ask? Because they have their heads up their butts. I’m talkin’ way, way up there.

I have an announcement to make: We have all been lied to, duped and deceived. Yes, dear friends, you heard it here first. I hate to be the one to burst your bubble but you know how they always say bad things come in sets of threes? Well, they were wrong. Very wrong.

That’s because I just had a very unlucky month. And it didn’t end after the third hit, when I relaxed a little believing my streak was over. Far from it. The hits just kept on coming. But such is life.

Let me complain, I mean explain…it started with little stuff not really worth mentioning. But you know I will anyway. Continue reading →

Remember way back before apps like Waze came along to get us where we’re going? Sadly, I do. Here’s a post from March, 2015 that makes me happy I no longer rely on Stella, my old GPS..I have absolutely no sense of direction. Consequently I’m always lost. That’s unless I’m armed with a device that talks to me and leads the way. In fact, I’m not even sure how I got anywhere until good old GPS came along. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m being serious.

Back in the day, before MapQuest and various technological inventions navigated for us, we relied on paper maps and verbal directions. It was hell. But getting around now is much simpler. Having a sucky sense of direction should no longer be a handicap, right? One would think. But my GPS (Stella) just happens to be directionally challenged.

Stella

Sometimes I’ll test Stella even when I know where I’m going. I’ll enter the address, hit the gas and see what transpires. Invariably, she takes the longest route. Sometimes I think she’s high or maybe in the throes of dementia. Simply put, much of the time Stella has absolutely no idea where she’s going. So that makes two of us. Continue reading →

So you know how I relocate un-adoptable feral cats to properties for rodent control? Well, last week’s relocation was slightly different. The property owner was referred to me by one of our volunteers so I thought, okay, great.

It’s rare that I know the people I’m bringing cats to. How it works is: they contact us, I get their address then go see if their property is a good fit for ferals. I never give it a second thought. And on second thought, maybe that’s not so smart.When I pulled into the driveway of Steve’s 7 acre spread, I noticed two houses. The one in back, where Steve lives, has an old barn attached that once housed ranch hands nearly 100 years ago. It sits at the end of a long dirt driveway. And as I drove in, I noticed a figure pacing back and forth through the lone upstairs window. Sorta eerie. I have to tell you, the whole scene reminded me of Norman Bates in Psycho. But maybe I’ve watched too many thrillers.